Skin deep
by Spectre-the-Zombie
Summary: Connor can't help but wonder if Hank really understands their differences.


It had been bothering Conner for a while. Of course, for an android time made less of a difference than it did for a human. He was essentially a super computer - what might seem a trivial span to them could be an eternity for one of his kind, particularly an advanced prototype such as himself... He could make thousands of calculations in the fraction of a second, and he could run over this troubling thought a dozen times in the instant it took to blink. And that was exactly what he had been doing.

No matter how hard he tried to tidy it away into one of his subfolders to deal with later, it always snuck to the forefront of his processes, insisting attention. Something to do with becoming deviant perhaps... Connor did not think he liked that development. Freedom was a welcome change, but his mind did not even seem willing to listen to _him_ these days, and it was frustrating.

"Alright, spit it out then," Hank said, glaring at him from his armchair.

Connor straightened minutely, adjusting his posture and tilting his head to observe the Lieutenant. In that tiny moment he was able to run through several options, but eventually decided on a neutral approach. "Spit out what?"

Hank reached up, tapping the side of his own head. "You're light thingy's been yellow for the last half hour. Figure you've got something on your mind."

Connor allowed himself a small smile. "A talented deduction."

"Spare me the bullshit. You gonna tell me or not?"

He frowned at that, glancing down at his feet where Sumo rested. He had such a placid nature for such a large creature, and somehow his very presence exuded a calming aura. The temptation to sink his fingers into the dog's soft fur itched at him, but he ignored it. As much as he would love to distract his systems with the sensory input, it would not help him for long, and Hank expected an answer.

"I'm... not sure it's something you would like to hear," he hazarded, still partially focused on Sumo, observing the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

"Well, how am I gonna know if you don't tell me?"

Connor glanced up, and saw both of Hank's eyebrows raised in question. His stress levels seemed low, perhaps a few percent above average but nothing alarming.

Connor supposed he could lie. He also supposed he could refuse to answer... he was allowed to keep secrets, he was a deviant after all, but... but he knew Hank would not be pleased, and that thought still stung in a way he was only just adjusting to. Besides, neither of those options would fix his problem.

"You are... fond of me..." he began, uncertain quite how to word what was troubling him. "At least, I believe you are... you've helped me in the past, and after the revolution you allowed me to stay here, and you... hugged me, so it would be a fair assumption to make given my understanding of human behavior..."

"For fuck's sake Connor, do you really think I don't care after-"

"It's not that," he corrected quickly, "I think all evidence points to the fact you do. It's just that I've been thinking lately. About humans, about androids..."

That was vague enough, but Hank appeared to be listening and showed no further signs of interruption. After a flicker of hesitation Conner decided to elaborate.

"We were designed to look identical to you... but you do understand that we are fundamentally different? That I have no sense of taste but I can identify the precise biochemical components of a substance orally? That if I wished to learn how to dance I could download all the information required and perform the steps perfectly? That I can name the current temperature with a 0.00003 degree margin of error, but I do not _feel_ it. I do not sleep, eat, even need to breath... That while on a surface level it may seem similar I don't think we even process information the same... That I will never age in the way humans do, that I have... that I have never been a child, I came into existence fully functional and with all the programming necessary to complete my objective... that I look like you but... I am not like you..."

Connor allowed the overlay of his skin to pull back, revealing the white plastic beneath. No pink flesh, nor freckles, nor swept back brown hair... only smooth panels of white and grey to encase the mechanics within.

He glanced back at Hank. His expression was hard to read.

Conner looked away, settling his attention on his own hands where they rested in his lap. White and inhuman. And yet undeniably him.

"Are you fond of _me_ ," he continued softly, "or do you care because you can pretend I am human? Because we mimic you so well..."

Hank did not reply immediately. Connor hated every moment of silence, he could measure the milliseconds as they dragged by, his systems had far too much free processing power spare to ponder every possible response he could expect, and each branching outcome it might lead to.

He wanted his coin. He wanted to feel the comforting weight of it, to measure its diameter and count the indents at its edge... to send it dancing from hand to hand with precise movements that gave his advanced motor control something to do, that let him predict something other than the consequence of a conversation he was already regretting.

His pocket was empty though. Hank likely still had it, and he was not wearing his Cyberlife uniform anyway. His clothes were plain, another reminder of the revolution, that he was no longer required to dress as the company decreed, he was no longer theirs...

He did not know if he liked them though. He did not know what kind of clothes he liked. He could identify the fabric type, density, area of origin... but forming his own opinion on what suited him was something he had yet to accomplish...

How was it that with all his advanced problem solving software he didn't know what kind of jacket he should wear? It was likely not something Cyberlife had ever programmed him for... something he could only realize as a deviant...

"Look," Hank said, and Connor's attention was on him in a flash, "I get that you're not... that we've got some differences. Seen you bleed that blue shit enough to know that already. And I ain't gonna lie, seeing you lose your skin is all kinds of creepy..."

A sinking feeling... Connor did not know how to classify it, how to catalogue or correct it, he only knew that it seemed to add an unpleasant weight to his body the longer he listened.

"Hank..."

The Lieutenant held up a hand, signaling him to stay quiet and Connor closed his mouth with a snap.

"But if you want it off then that's your business. You're still the same idiot who's always licking evidence at crime scenes, the same idiot who's saved my life... Maybe you're not human, maybe none of you are, but you sure as hell are _people_ , and that's what matters."

The sinking feeling was gone. Instead Connor found he felt oddly giddy, light, warm... all terrible over simplifications but he could think of no way to describe the way his coding responded.

Hank was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction from where he sat. Connor didn't know how to begin saying any of the things he wanted.

His smile, at least, was easy enough to read.

"Besides," Hank added, with a small quirk of his own lips, "you're human enough to go having an existential crisis about the whole damn thing."

"I wasn't aware that was a trait unique to humans," Connor remarked.

Hank snorted, but he seemed relaxed enough, his posture settled now that Connor appeared content. "Well Sumo sure as hell ain't having any trouble."

Connor glanced down at the dog at his feet. The St. Bernard twitched slightly in his doze, drool pooling where his head rested against Connor's shoe.

"No," Connor agreed, his smile lingering, "I don't suppose he is."

Slowly, he allowed his skin overlay to spread out across his form again, watching as his hands turned back to a familiar flesh tone.

He felt... at ease. It was not the mask the Hank liked, the human he could pretend he was... it was the plastic beneath, the parts of his code that made him unique, it was... him.

He thought he would be happy to call this place home if the Lieutenant allowed him to stay.

* * *

 _((I know the game is called 'become human' but I think it would have been interesting to focus on some of the differences between androids and humans... and how despite those differences they are still people. Like having androids after the revolution who don't wear their skin cos they're proud of being androids... or older models that weird people out cos their programming was never quite human enough but they still deserve to be treated right... or androids having strange hobbies or habits that people just can't understand... idk...))_


End file.
